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„^. , MEMOIR 

<&*■? <^^ t&e,^ ^*)£x; 

MARGARET AND HENRIETTA FLOWER. 



11 They were lovely and pleasant in their lives :— 
And in their death they were not divided." 



BOSTON: 

PUBLISHED BY PERKINS, MARVIN, <fc CO. 

PHILADELPHIA : 
HENRY PERKINS. 



1835. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, 

By Perkins, Marvin, & Co. 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 



2/r-/J- 



INTRODUCTION. 



By the Rev. Mr. Stone, 
Rector of St. Paul's Church, Boston. 



Of all the endeavors to do religious good to the 
millions of our land, that of preparing salutary spiritual 
food for infant and youthful minds, holds, it may be 
safely said, without a rival, the first rank in impor- 
tance. Whoever endeavors to hold up, or to aid, 
however feebly, in holding up before the myriads of 
American children, a faithful picture of the moral and 
religious character of those, who from their own ranks, 
have been made subjects of early renewing and sancti- 
fying grace, and who, thus prepared, have been early 
taken to heaven, in the garniture of their shining and 
beautiful robes of holiness, does at least attempt that, 



4 

which, rightly and successfully done, must confer in- 
calculably precious benefits on the land of our affec- 
tions. 

That the ensuing memoirs will prove highly success- 
ful labors in this department of religious literature, the 
present writer can hardly doubt. Their delineations of 
moral and religious character are not overwrought pic- 
tures of mere imagination, but portraitures touched with 
the pure colors of truth and faithfulness to nature. 
They are delineations of just such characters as have 
been not infrequently seen, as we should always love 
to see, in the children of our country. Obedience to 
parents from a principle of filial love ; guileless and 
glowing sisterly affection ; a holy regard for truth ; a 
sacred tenderness to the reputations of others ; a love 
of goodness and of the good for their own loveliness' 
sake ; unwearied industry and unspotted cleanliness of 
habits ; a quick sensibility of heart to the power of 
divine truth ; a quenchless thirst for sacred knowledge ; 
beautifully clear perceptions of the gospel method of 
salvation ; pure love for God ; simple faith in Christ ; 
unostentatious humility of mind ; — such are some of 
the most conspicuous traits of character in those lovely 



specimens of childlike mind, which Mrs. Sigourney 
here holds up to view ; and which, if drawn in faith- 
ful resemblances on the characters of all our children, 
would make the future destiny of our land brightly 
illustrious for every good. The course of the memoirs 
too, abounds with passages of moral power, which 
touch as with a charmer's hand, the best springs of 
action, and open, with sweet resistlessness, the deep 
clear fountains of religious sensibility within us. 

That the characters here delineated with such beau- 
tiful fidelity to nature, were actually the characters of 
the interesting children, to whom they are ascribed, 
the writer is fully satisfied. — Margaret and Hen- 
rietta almost grew up under the eye of her who has 
sketched their lovely portraits. She had the originals 
glowingly present to her thought, when she drew their 
likenesses. With only one of them, indeed, was the 
writer of this personally acquainted. His acquaint- 
ance with that one, however, enables him to bear 
testimony to the striking fidelity to truth of the account 
here given of her. He well remembers the feelings 
with which his first and subsequent visits to her, in- 
spired his mind. He was convinced from the first, 



that he had before him no ordinary character, whether 
as to natural endowments, or as to attainments in reli- 
gion. Even through the dim and silent light which 
pervaded her apartment, he could easily trace, among 
her pale and emaciated features, a countenance strongly 
intellectual ; while on its aspect there was reposing an 
expression of calm, resigned, and heavenly patience, 
mingled, indeed, with tokenings of an inward emotion, 
plainly of a somewhat painful nature. The cause of 
this, conversation soon developed. It was a sense of 
her sinfulness in the sight of a pure and holy God ; 
and an intense anxiety to know " what she should do 
to be saved." Yes; a child, w T hose natural character, 
he knew, had from infancy been one of even peculiar 
loveliness, and to whose mind he had never had an op- 
portunity of addressing a single consideration from the 
truths of the Bible, lay before him in all the calm con- 
sciousness of an unimpaired intellect of no secondary 
order, and yet under a solemnly impressed sense of 
sinfulness in the sight of God, and under a deeply ex- 
cited desire to learn how she might be reconciled to 
Him. These things, too clearly for the admission of 
a doubt in his mind, came from no other source than 



the inward revealings of the Spirit of God, applying 
the religious instructions of her earlier childhood, and 
showing her, that, lovely as the natural character may 
be in its relations to kindred character here, there is 
still in the loveliest a deep seated alienation of the 
heart from God, a want of affiliated confidence in, and 
love for a heavenly Father, and a consequent need of 
reconciliation to him, and of preparedness, by renew- 
ing and sanctifying grace, for the society of his holy 
and heavenly family. He therefore proceeded to 
open to her understanding the gospel way of salvation ; 
of pardon through faith in the atonement of Christ ; 
and of the "new birth unto righteousness" through 
the influences of the Holy Spirit. Her deeply atten- 
tive and solemn listenings to these instructions were 
truly impressive ; and, after commending her in prayer 
to God, her Father, Saviour, Sanctifier, he took his 
leave, persuaded that he had been enjoying the high 
and blessed privilege of ministering to one, who was 
soon to become one of the youthful " heirs of sal- 
vation." 

This persuasion was delightfully confirmed at his 
next interview with her j when almost her first ques- 



8 

tion was, " How may I know, sir, that I have been 
born again ? " As he proceeded to lay before her 
the various marks of a truly renewed mind, he remem- 
bers well with what ready promptness, and with what 
serious emphasis, she answered the following question. 
" Suppose, dear Margaret, the choice were to be given 
you, either to die now, with your present views, hopes, 
and feelings, or to regain your health, and grow up a 
thoughtless and vain, though amiable child of a fash- 
ionable world : — which would you choose ? " With 
scarce a moment for consideration, yet as though her 
whole soul were going up to God in the decision, she 
replied, " Let me die now" 

At his next interview with her, the slightly painful 
expression of her countenance was gone ; a sweet 
peace with God had spread itself, in visible utterances, 
over her speaking features ; she expressed it to him 
in words ; and he felt that his own spirit could hold 
communion with hers in a foretaste of that " peace of 
God which passing all understanding " here, shall be 
both eternal and fully comprehended hereafter. 

Throughout his subsequent pastoral intercourse with 
her, her Christian character unfolded itself in mcreas- 



ingly just and beautiful proportions, leaving no reason- 
able doubt that it was rapidly becoming as rare a 
demonstration of the renewing grace of God in the 
mind of childhood, as her natural character was of that 
heavenly skill, which had given it its exquisite mould- 
ing and tempering. When, therefore, after her re- 
moval from Boston to Hartford, he learned the fact of 
her decease, he was prepared for the accompanying 
account of her character and course of life in full ; 
while the evident imbodying of truth which it con- 
tained, gave a ready entrance into his belief to the 
conclusion that the connected sketch of her sister's life 
and character was equally faithful to the verity of 
facts. 

He regards with special interest the publication of 
volumes like the present, from the persuasion which 
rests on his mind, that the ministers and members of 
the religious denomination to which he belongs, have 
not felt, so generally as they ought to have done, the 
practicability and importance of very early conversions 
to God. The capabilities of the mind of childhood, 
both in its affections and in its understanding, for re- 
ceiving adequate and permanent religious impressions, 



10 

is but beginning to receive its just share of attention 
amongst us. If, therefore, the little book, to which 
he has been permitted to prefix these observations, 
should be made instrumental, as he thinks it is calcu- 
lated to aid, in suitably impressing our minds on this 
subject ; if it should be the means in any good degree, 
of leading our religious teachers, whether in the pulpit, 
in the Bible class, or in the Sunday school, to labor 
and pray more unweariedly and more believingly for 
the early renewal and sanctification of those precious 
little immortals, of whom they have the charge for 
religious education ; he cannot but think that it will 
have well filled its place, — that it will have pro- 
moted an object of infinite moment. 

Boston. December 2, 1834. 



MEMOIR. 



Margaret and Henrietta Flower, the 
only children of their parents who survived 
infancy, were born at Hartford, Connecticut : 
— the eldest, September 16th, 1319, — the 
youngest, August 1st, 1822. 

They early displayed affectionate disposi- 
tions, and good powers of mind. Their love 
of books, revealed itself in infancy. As soon 
as they were capable of receiving instruction, 
their parents were anxious to give them an 
excellent education. 

Margaret, being three years older than her 
sister, was able first to attend school. She 



12 

was attentive to the wishes of her teachers, 
and so fond of study, that there was no need 
of urging her to application. It was evident 
that she possessed brilliant talents, and pur- 
sued knowledge for the love of it. She often 
asked for longer lessons than were given her, 
and was faithful to learn thoroughly all that 
were appointed. 

To her Bible-lessons, she devoted particular 
attention. When they were long, or required 
a comparison of different parts, she was never 
fatigued with the labor thev occasioned, nor 
satisfied until she perfectly understood them. 
Thus she obtained a knowledge of scripture, 
very remarkable for her years, and which 
continued with her to the end of her life. 

Her recitations in History, were distin- 
guished by clearness and excellence. She 
would render the substance of her lessons, in 
her own language, with great propriety and 
elegance. This she was able to do, with far 



13 

less study than is usually required. In all 
her studies, she displayed wonderful correct- 
ness. Her handwriting was very neat and 
beautiful. Of music she was exceedingly fond, 
and excelled in its performance. Though, in 
the progress of her education, it was soon 
discovered that she possessed brilliant talents, 
she was not inclined to be either vain or indo- 
lent. Because she could acquire knowledge, 
with more ease than most of her companions, 
she did not boast of her quickness of percep- 
tion. She was industrious, and patient, and 
obedient. 

In school, she was desirous to select asso- 
ciates who were attentive to their studies. 
She requested her instructress that her seat 
might be w T ith those, who set a good example. 
If all children were equally anxious to associate 
only with the good, how much folly and sorrow 
would be spared them. At the time when im- 
pressions are most easily made, and while the 



14 

influence of young companions is greater than 
even that of parents or teachers, little Mar- 
garet exemplified that precept of the book 
which she loved, " He that walketh with wise 
persons shall be wise." 

She was distinguished by a sacred regard 
to truth. By the excellent system of Miss 
Draper, of whose Seminary she was a mem- 
ber, this tenderness of conscience was culti- 
vated. To the daily requisition that the 
scholars should report any violation of the 
rules into which they had fallen, she was 
strictly attentive. That they might be taught 
to avoid evil-speaking, and to cherish feelings 
of benevolence to all, the inquiry was often 
made, if they had spoken to the disadvantage 
of any one. Her sincerity on this point, was 
often affecting. When she could not recollect 
any word that had expressed unkindness, she 
would be fearful that even by some change of 
countenance, or motion of the head, she might 



15 

have injured the feelings of some person, or 
agreed in opinion with those who were blamin^ 
the absent, and would ask her preceptress with 
much earnestness, " Was that to the disadvan- 
tage of another?" So anxious was she always 
to do right. She carried the principle of 
fidelity into every thing. She kept a journal 
of her progress in study, and the manner in 
which she spent her time. It proves her dili- 
gence, and the care with which she obeyed 
the regulations of the school. One of its 
rules, was to spend two hours every evening, 
in studying at home. On one occasion she 
writes with her usual integrity and simplicity, 
" I do not know whether to record it as a 
violation or not, but my studies are not hard 
enough to occupy me two hours." 

By her journal it appears that she was in 
the habit of early rising. Once she writes, 
" This morning it was so very cold, that I was 
tempted to lie in bed. But thinking it a good 



16 

opportunity to practise self-denial, I sprang 
up, and was dressed by a quarter past six. 
My lessons were perfect to-day. 1 do not 
recollect any violations. I shall say nothing 
about spring, the poet's season, until it comes. 
As yet the earth is covered with snow, and 
the buds think best to keep concealed a little 
longer in their winter-retreats. It is well — 
for if they did but look forth, they would be 
frozen. I am glad that they have so much 
prudence, about taking colds and consump- 
tions. Would that every mortal had as much. 17 
The handwriting of this journal, from its 
neatness and beauty, would scarcely seem to 
be the production of a child of ten years. 
Thus it also was with her books of poetical 
extracts, which show both her diligence, and 
her advanced taste in selection. Notwith- 
standing her attention to her studies, she 
found time to read. She read with great 
rapidity. Her mother would sometimes say, 



17 

" Margaret, I fear you can scarcely have 
understood the book, you have finished so 
quickly." But she would convince her by 
a particular account of its contents, and by 
repeating from memory such passages as she 
most admired, that she had not carelessly 
perused it. She was accustomed to commit 
to writing, her recollections of the sermons 
she heard. Her mind was continually active, 
and in search of improvement. 

So anxious was she to keep up with her 
classes at school, that when she was indis- 
posed, she obtained information of the daily 
lessons, and diligently learned them. During 
a period of confinement to the house, she felt 
it as a great obligation that Miss Draper occa- 
sionally came and heard her recitations. She 
thanked her with the utmost gratitude, and 
numbered it among the causes which called 
forth her affection to her instructress, an 
2 



18 

affection that was fully appreciated and re- 
turned. 

She cherished a deep sense of the worth of 
time. She had also a love of order, and used 
to devote particular hours to particular em- 
ployments. She often wrote resolutions for 
the division of her time, and the regulation of 
her conduct. Papers like the following, were 
sometimes found by her mother, though it was 
her wish rather to conceal, than to display 
them. 

" Rise at half past five. Take care of the 
rooms. Sew, until two hours from that time. 
Practise on my piano, one hour, then study 
one hour. Work till three in the afternoon, 
then practise an hour, and study an hour, re- 
serving time for exercise." 

This was written during a vacation from 
school, and will show how desirous she was 
to mark by diligence, that time which young 



19 

people are apt to feel should be devoted en- 
tirely to recreation. 

Her mind was disposed to receive and en- 
courage religious impressions. A perusal of 
the memoirs of Miss Sophia Luce, a young 
lady, distinguished for piety, and whose death 
was eminently happy, awakened her to great 
depth and tenderness of feeling, at an early 
age. She, and her little sister, would often 
read it in solitude, with serious meditation. 
Once, after contemplating this example of 
early piety, she wrote the following short 
prayer. 

" Oh ! may my life be like hers, and when 
my earthly pilgrimage is over, may He who 
reigns forever, take me to his bosom." 

She was often in the habit of writing in 
her books, with a pencil, some serious and 
appropriate sentiment. These were usually 
passages of scripture. In some she w T rote, — 

" Lay not up for yourselves treasures on 



20 

earth. " In others, the chosen motto would 
be, " Seek first the kingdom of God, and his 
righteousness. " 

Her Polyglott Bible has written on its blank 
page the following selection. 

"Search the scriptures. From a child, thou 
hast known the holy scriptures, which are 
able to make thee wise unto salvation. Re- 
member now thy Creator, in the days of thy 
youth. Seek the Lord, while he may be 
found, call upon him while he is near. This 
is a faithful saying, and worthy of all accepta- 
tion, that Jesus Christ came into the world to 
save sinners." 

Though she studied her Bible so much, and 
became so familiar with its contents, she pre- 
served it with such reverent care, that it has 
the appearance of a new, unsullied volume. 
She was remarkable for care of all her books. 
Those which she used for years, have not the 
slightest mark of injury, or neglect. Her 



21 

school books have neither blot, or leaf turned 
down, or cover broken. She was very differ- 
ent from those children, who think it no harm 
to deface, destroy, or lose them. Her love of 
knowledge led her to respect the pages where 
it was inscribed. 

In neatness, and care of her clothes, she 
was equally exemplary. She repaired, and 
kept her garments in beautiful order, and wore 
them a long time, without injury. In the use 
of the needle, she was highly accomplished. 
She did not make her studies an excuse for 
the neglect of it. It delighted her, that she 
could thus be useful to her dear mother. If 
there was any work of a peculiarly delicate or 
difficult nature, she desired that it might be 
given to her. When there was an occasional 
recess from school, the record often occurs 
in her journal, " Spent the day in working." 
She did not think any thing tedious, or un- 
worthy of her attention, that entered into 



22 

the duty of a female. She showed as much 
patience, and capability of excelling, in darning 
a torn garment, as in solving a problem of 
Euclid. She was pleased that needlework 
formed a part of the stated employments, at 
the select school of Miss Marston, in Quincy, 
Massachusetts, of which she was for a time, 
a member. Here also, her proficiency in 
study, and consistent goodness, made her a 
favorite with her teachers, and gained the love 
of strangers. Miss Marston thus mentions her 
in a letter. 

" At the early age of eleven years, we dis- 
covered that she possessed an unusual share 
of intelligence, and goodness of heart. 1 well 
remember the pleasure with which she pur- 
sued her studies, and the great facility with 
which she acquired her lessons. This was 
particularly the case in History — so much so, 
that I placed her in the class with the eldest 



23 

young ladies in school, by none of whom 
was she excelled in her acquirements in this 
branch. They have often assured me, that 
while they were obliged to devote every mo- 
ment of the time allotted them for the pur- 
pose, to prepare themselves for recitation, 
little Margaret would, after a few minutes 5 
attention, be perfectly at leisure ; and I do 
not recollect, that she was ever deficient. 
On one occasion, I remember, that when she 
had recited, with even more than her usual 
success, I discovered she had read the lesson 
only once, and that, the day before. The 
manner of her recitations, was also particu- 
larly pleasing, giving the substance of the 
whole, in her own correct and perspicuous 
language. Indeed, the propriety of her ex- 
pressions was observable on all occasions, as 
well as her distinct utterance, and correct 
pronunciation. These qualifications, together 
with her quick apprehension of the sense of 



24 

an author, rendered her also, one of the best 
readers I have ever known, of her age. My 
father, who always took the liveliest interest 
in the improvement of my pupils, would gen- 
erally question them, as we sat at breakfast, 
on the subject of their morning lessons, and 
we were ever gratified by the readiness and 
elegance of Margaret's replies." 

How much ought the commendation of 
teachers to be prized, and sought after, by 
children. Their favorable testimony seems to 
give promise, that the future duties of life will 
be well performed. Those who are enjoying 
the benefits of a good education, should strive 
to gain the affection of their teachers. They 
should avoid giving them trouble, and listen 
respectfully to all their instructions. They 
should regard them as benefactors, and re- 
member them with gratitude. Thus, they 



25 

will be beloved as Margaret was, by all who 
had the superintendence of her studies. 

But we must now turn from the contem- 
plation of her excellence as a scholar ; — and 
view her in sickness and affliction. Early in 
the autumn of 1833, she was taken ill, while 
in Boston, of a typhus fever. Some extracts 
from letters to her father, written by her 
mother, who went on to attend her in sick- 
ness, give a clear description of her state of 
mind. 

"Boston, Sept. 2G, 1833. 
"At my arrival, I found our dear Margaret 
very low. She seems much comforted at my 
coming, and is all love and tenderness to her 
friends. She says, ' I used to dream I was 
with my dear parents, but awoke to find 
it was all a dream.' Her patience is sur- 
prising. She takes her medicines with great 
readiness. She often speaks of home, her 



26 

dear home. Oh, that she might recover, once 
more to reach it." 

" Sept. 28, 

" Our dear child is very ill to-day. Dr. 

does not hesitate to say she is dangerous, and 
has called a consulting physician. She yes- 
terday, of her own accord, requested me to 
send for the Rev. Mr. Croswell. She wished 
him to pray with her. We sent, but found 
that he was out of town. She remarked, that 
if he did not return soon, it would be too late. 
She asked if the doctor considered her dan- 
gerous. I replied that there was always 
danger in fever, and inquired what would be 
her feelings, were she called to die. She 
answered, 'I do not feel afraid to die. I 
believe I shall be happy. I believe Christ 
has died to save me. I know that I have 
sinned, and am not good enough to be saved. 
But God can pardon me for Jesus' sake.' 



27 

Then, with tears streaming down her cheeks, 
repeated, 

* There is a land of pure delight, 
Where saints immortal reign, 
Eternal day excludes the night, ■ 

And pleasures banish pain/ 

In compliance with her desire, I sent for the 
Rev. Mr. Stone, of St. Paul's church. His 
conversation was very solemn, and adapted to 
her situation. She listened with the deepest 
attention, and fixed her expressive eyes upon 
him, every moment he was speaking. He 
prayed with her, and after he went out, she 
exclaimed, ' O, what a prayer /' " 

"Sept. 30. 

" Dear Margaret is no better. Her suffer- 
ings are very great. She is constantly re- 
peating some appropriate text of scripture. I 
had no idea she was so conversant with her 



28 

Bible. Miss I. H. tells me, she never knew 
a young person so attached to a Bible and 
prayer-book, as she has been during the sum- 
mer. The Rev. Mr. Stone visits her every 
day. She asked him this morning, how we 
could know if our hearts were changed. He 
explained it to her understanding, and asked 
her many questions. He afterwards remarked 
to me, that her answers were perfectly satis- 
factory, and that he believed she had expe- 
rienced that change. She observed, that she 
could not bear her sufferings, were it not for 
her love to God, and his word. The sim- 
plicity and sincerity of her manner, is Yery 
striking. 

" A lady, who was a resident in the house, 
kindly wished to cheer one of the intervals of 
languor, that attended her sickness, by dis- 
playing to her some rich ornaments, and curi- 
osities from South America. She was grateful 
for the attention, and for a short time seemed 



29 

to be amused. At length, casting her eyes 
upon a watch, she laid aside the other articles, 
and taking it in her hand, said, c They are very 
pretty, but this is useful. Mother, if I get 
well, will you get me a watch, that I may 
consider the value of time? n She expressed 
a wish that this might remain by her. But 
the next day, she returned it to the lady, 
saying, f I do not wish it any longer. It can 
do me no good, for I feel that I must now 
place my mind on things beyond time.' 1 " 

We are permitted to make extracts from 
a letter of the same lady, who often saw her 
during her sickness. 

"Her very affectionate and interesting man- 
ner towards those who attended her, always 
attracted my attention. Not the slightest 
office was disregarded by her. Even now, I 
fancy that I hear her sweet, submissive voice, 



30 

answering, ' O yes, 5 to the frequent questions 
of the nurse, ' Will you take this medicine, 
Margaret ? it is time.' Not only did her 
words evince her willingness, but her counte- 
nance was marked with meekness and con- 
fidence towards those around. How often, 
when I have observed the anxiety of parents 
for the education and appearance of their 
children, have her earnest words returned to 
my remembrance. ' Mother, you have been 
too, too anxious for my body. My poor soul 
has not been enough considered. Only think 
what it is worth ! I feel that I shall die soon. 
What must become of me, if my peace is not 
made with God ? O mother, pray for me. 
Read to me. Comfort me if you can, but do 
not encourage me, if there is no hope. Do 
send for a minister of Christ, and let him 
teach me the way of salvation. Through the 
merits and mercy of my Saviour, I must be 
saved, if at all. I have nothing to oifer, but a 



31 

wicked heart. Do you think, mother, God 
will hear me, if I pray ?' 

" I saw her the day after the service for the 
sick had been read to her by the Rev. Mr. 
Stone. Her mother had gone to lay down. 
I ventured into the room, unperceived by 
Margaret. She had prevailed upon the person 
who attended her, to turn the corner of the 
curtain so as to admit a little light. Her pale, 
wan face, was bent over her little prayer- 
book, the constant companion of her pillow, 
with an almost unearthly interest. Observing 
that the type was small, I asked her if there 
was net some other book, of a coarser print, 
that she would like. She mildly, but de- 
cisively answered, i No? and immediately 
placed it under her pillow, still continuing 
to hold it with her hand. At times she ap- 
peared entirely to forget her own sufferings, 
in anxiety for her absent sister." 



32 

It has already been mentioned that her 
affection for her only sister, was exceedingly 
ardent, and seemed to have some mixture of 
a mother's tenderness. The last letter that 
she ever wrote, was to her. It was dated 
from Boston, a short time before she was 
taken sick. It expressed her delighted antici- 
pation of returning home, and the pleasure 
she promised herself from playing again to her 
sister, on their favorite piano. It closes with 
the simply affectionate precept, "Be a good 
little girl." 

Margaret still continued dangerously sick. 
Her father came on, and watched day and 
night by the side of his child. The fever at 
length seemed to yield. But her constitution 
was exhausted, and symptoms of consumption 
appeared. A violent and fatal cough seized 
her, which no skill could cure. Every effort 
to save her, was made by the most eminent 
physicians. Dr. Jackson advised that her 



33 

removal to Hartford should be attempted. She 
sustained the journey far better than was ex- 
pected. The return to her dear home, and 
the meeting with her beloved sister, lighted up 
her emaciated countenance with its wonted 
expression of joy. During the whole winter, 
the hopes and fears of those most interested 
in her recovery, prevailed by turns. She 
frequently expressed her entire resignation to 
the will of her Father in heaven. Notwith- 
standing her pain was often great, she spoke 
of the peace and satisfaction that reigned in 
her heart. One night she exclaimed, as if in 
ecstasy, " O, I am so happy ! 55 Her mother 
inquired, " What makes you happy, my love ? 55 
11 God makes me happy, 55 she replied. " I feel 
that peace which passeth all understanding. 55 
Her weakness was extreme, and her cough 
exceedingly severe. " Dear mother, 55 she 
would often say, " you don 5 t know how much 
I feel, but I cannot talk. 55 There was at no 
3 



34 

period of her distressing illness, any wandering 
of mind, or failure of intellect. 

The last day of her life found her calm 
and placid. In the afternoon, those who sur- 
rounded her remarked, that her eyes had an 
unusual, and unearthly brightness. They were 
raised upward, as if following and fixing on 
some delightful object. Her dearest friends 
were anxious to know what passed in her 
mind, but forebore to ask her any questions. 
They dreaded lest the action of her voice 
should bring on a convulsive turn of coughing, 
which she seemed not to have strength to 
endure. She was emaciated almost to a 
shadow. Yet with surprising command over 
the pencil, she traced with her wasted hand, 
the following lines on a slip of paper. " Dear 
mother, since my voice is too weak for you 
to hear me plainly, suppose I write down 
my wishes, and show them to you?" Then 
follows on another paper, the whole of the 



35 

Lord's prayer, written fairly, and legibly ; a 
precious testimony that her parting thoughts 
were employed in communing with her Maker. 
Margaret had always a great fondness for 
such poetry as conveyed pious sentiments, and 
enforced the shortness of life. It was pecu- 
liarly affecting to the heart of a mother, who 
watched all these developments of mind with 
inexpressible interest, to find after her death, 
the following lines in the pocket of one of her 
dresses, which she had worn at school, during 
her last absence from the paternal roof. 

AT MUSING HOUR. 
By T. Wells. 

At musing hour of twilight gray, 

W 7 hen silence reigns around, 
I love to walk the church-yard way: 

To me 'tis holy ground. 



36 

To me, congenial is the place, 
Where yew and cypress grow ; 

I love the moss-grown stone to trace, 
That tells who lies below. 

And, as the lonely spot I pass 

Where weary ones repose, 
I think, like them, how soon, alas! 

My pilgrimage will close. 

Like them, I think, when I am gone, 

And soundly sleep as they, 
Alike unnoticed and unknown 

Shall pass my name away. 

Yet, ah ! — and let me lightly tread ! 

She sleeps beneath this stone, 
That would have soothed my dying bed, 

And wept for me when gone ! 

Her image 'tis — to memory dear — 
That clings around my heart, 

And makes me fondly linger here, 
Unwilling to depart. 



37 

From the conversation of those around her, 
she understood that her sister was ill. She 
anxiously requested her father to go immedi- 
ately to her, and continued to inquire re- 
specting her, of every one who entered the 
room. When he returned to her bedside, he 
asked, " Shall I pray with you, my child?" 
She replied, " Not now, dear father, I have 
just been praying for myself. 55 This was her 
last day on earth, — Monday, February 24th, 
1834. ' 

Henrietta was taken suddenly ill, on the 
Saturday night previous to the death of her 
sister. During Sunday, she scarcely left her 
bed. The next day, the attack, which was 
violent bleeding at the nose, was repeated. It 
seemed to exhaust all her strength. Through 
the winter she had been bright and blooming, 
and worn the appearance of perfect health. 
Now, she was changed, as if the seal of death 



38 

had been set upon her. As soon as she could 
move, she desired to be led to her sister's 
apartment. She was indulged. She stood 
close by her bed. They looked long, and 
tenderly at each other. But they spoke not. 
Those who saw that fixed gaze, in which 
soul seemed to mingle with soul, can never 
forget it. It was the parting of the sisters. 
The scene cannot be described in words. 
Those affectionate beings realized that they 
were to meet no more on earth. Did their 
pale and beautiful lips exchange an unspoken 
promise, soon to meet in heaven ? 

The gentle and fragile Henrietta was led 
from the room of her dying sister. " She 
will soon be clothed in white robes, and strike 
a harp of gold," said she meekly. It was 
repeated to Margaret. Her reply was a look 
of inexpressible delight. For the few hours 
of life that remained to her, she lay tranquil, 
and at peace. It would seem, from the bright- 



39 

ness that past over her countenance, that she 
was contemplating the bliss of angels. Those 
who best loved her, feared to interrupt the 
happiness of that holy vision. They left the 
pure spirit free to converse with Him, to 
whom it was ascending. It preferred to keep 
silence, and to pause from the language of 
earth, ere it entered upon that full burst of 
melody, which hath no end. That night, it 
was said of her, in the whispered tones of her 
hushed apartment, and in bursts of grief that 
could not be controlled, She is dead. But 
was there not joy in the court of heaven, be- 
cause another soul was added to their blissful 
company ? 

The lone and mournful Henrietta, was able 
to attend the funeral of her sister. She stood 
by her open grave, and looked steadfastly into 
it. She attended church, the following Sab- 
bath, and mingled her prayers with those of 
her afflicted parents. 



40 

She complained not. She concealed her 
own grief, lest she should add to the sorrow 
of her parents. She lifted up her head, like 
some drooping lily, to take gratefully the dew 
and the sunbeam which God reserved for it. 

For a few weeks, she enjoyed a comfortable 
degree of health. The delicacy and loveliness 
of her appearance at this time, attracted every 
eye. Though she had attained the age of 
eleven years, there was about her a simplicity, 
a winning, affectionate manner, which seemed 
to betoken the innocent beauty of an earlier 
period of life. She possessed one of the most 
gentle and amiable dispositions. From child- 
hood, if there was any complaint or trouble 
among her companions, she was always dis- 
posed to make peace. She would excuse 
their faults, as for as was in her power, and 
speak without disguise of her own. She could 
not bear to hear others blamed. She even 
preferred to take blame upon herself. She 



41 

shrank at the thought of giving pain to any 
human being. 

Like her sister, she was remarkable for 
neatness and love of order, for care over her 
books, for keeping in its proper place every 
article committed to her charge, and for that 
kind deportment to domestics, which gained 
their love in return. 

When she was able to attend school, she 
invariably called forth the attachment of her 
teachers. A young lady, who had for a time, 
the direction of her studies, writes, " I was 
delighted with her docility and sweet man- 
ners. I used to think there was an unearthly 
loveliness about her, and said to her mother, 
that she must not expect to retain her long. 
She seemed, even then, allied to an angelic 
nature. 55 

The sweet smile that played around her 
features when she spoke, will not soon be 
forgotten by those who knew her. " She was 



42 

like a beautiful vision," said a friend — " the 
cast of her countenance was such, as one 
might easily fancy a cherub to be — such as 
I have never before seen belonging to a being 
of earth. And that her face was a faithful 
index of her heart, all who knew her gen- 
tleness and loveliness, will most readily ac- 
knowledge." 

She was distinguished by filial obedience, 
and love of truth. No higher testimony to 
the excellence of these sisters need be added, 
than the assurance of both their parents, that 
they never knew either of them ivilfully to 
disobey their commands, or to utter a false- 
hood. It should be the endeavor of all the 
children who read this book, that the same 
thing may be said of them. And that they 
may steadfastly follow such good example, let 
them ask grace of God. 

A lady in Boston, intimately acquainted 
with the sisters, thus speaks of them both. 



43 

" Margaret, at a very early age, discovered 
great precocity of talent and character. At 
eight and nine years old, her taste for reading 
was such, and her books so well chosen, that 
she was capable and ready to converse with 
any well educated and intelligent person of 
mature age, with accuracy and propriety. 
She selected her society from among those 
of literary and refined taste. She enjoyed 
the pursuit of knowledge more than any thing 
else. 

" The amusements common to most chil- 
dren, at that period of life, she often over- 
looked as incapable of affording satisfaction. 
She sought something more solid and useful. 
Her disposition was sprightly and animated, 
but she found in books her chief pleasure. 
Her obedience to her parents, and her affec- 
tion for her sister, were striking traits in her 
character. Her person was interesting to all 
who saw her, and she possessed a sweetness 



44 

and dignity of manner, very unusual for her 
years. 

" The character of Henrietta, was one of 
surpassing loveliness. She attracted the at- 
tention of all who saw her. From a child 
she possessed uncommon beauty of person, 
and every beholder was struck with the ex- 
pression of her countenance, and the sweet 
simplicity of her manners. If her external 
beauty was faultless, her mind was equally 
so. It was not so fully developed, as to its 
strength, at so early a period, as that of her 
sister. Her constitution and health being 
delicate, she was prevented from applying 
herself so much to study. Nature had made 
her in the finest and purest mould, and ren- 
dered her capable of becoming all that was 
lovely in woman. She was all smiles and 
affection to those around her. Her happiness 
consisted in making others so. In the words 
of a celebrated writer, ' she was one of those 



45 

who seemed gifted with the marvellous touch, 
that opens the fountains of affection in every 
nature, that elicits harmony from the coarsest, 
most discordant instruments ; and the faces of 
both old and young, were lighted up at her 
approach, as if they had been touched by the 
wing of an angel.' " 

Thus happy in the admiration and love of 
all who knew her, she w T as far from being 
vain of this distinction. She was humble, and 
ready to acknowledge herself in the sight of 
God, a sinner. In a little, affectionate note, 
which she wrote, not long before her last 
sickness, and laid in her mother's work-basket, 
she laments the possession of a " sinful heart.' 5 
She was attentive to religious reading, and to 
her private devotions. The early instructions 
and pious example of her parents, seem to have 
been visibly blest to both their children. 



46 

It has already been mentioned that Henri- 
etta endeavored to control her grief, for the 
loss of her sister. But it took deep root 
within. It lay down and rose up with her. 
It led her wounded spirit to Him, who alone 
could heal. It seemed to have been sanctified 
to her, as a means of grace. In little penciled 
notes, like the following, she poured forth her 
emotions. 

" God alone can comfort the broken heart, — 
Sweet, — sweet sister !" 

So tenderly anxious was she not to increase 
her mother's sorrow, that after Margaret's 
death, she never shed a tear in her presence. 
Sometimes, it would seem as if her mourning 
was too deep, to permit the relief of tears. 
This affecting subject, led her to write the 
ensuing note. 



47 

" My dearest Mother, 

" You perhaps think I am heartless, and 
do not feel for your loss, in God's taking our 
dear Margaret. But I am wrapt up in my 
own sorrow. There is much comfort, dear 
mother, if we will only look to that God, who 
promises so much, if we will put our trust 
in him. I think the twenty-third Psalm is a 
very beautiful one. i The Lord is my Shep- 
herd ; I shall not want. He maketh me to 
lie down in green pastures : He leadeth me 
beside the still waters.' Dear mother, I feel 
rather tired. 

" Your Henrietta. " 

A short letter to a little friend in Spring- 
field, expresses her feelings still more freely. 

" I have lost my only, and dearly beloved 
sister. But I did not prize her enough. Caro- 
line, you are happy ; you have brothers and 



48 

sisters. I have none. It will be but a short 
time, ere I too shall be laid in the grave. I 
feel as though all I had to do, was to prepare 
for another and a better world." 

It was the will of the Almighty, that she 
should not long be divided from her loved 
sister. In a few weeks she began to droop, 
and never more lifted up her head in health. 
After the confinement of sickness settled upon 
her, she seemed still more painfully to miss 
her bosom-companion. She would sit for 
hours, with the deepest sorrow depicted on 
her countenance. Then, as if she was hardly 
conscious that her thoughts had broke forth in 
words, would exclaim, 

" I have no sister to play to me on the 
piano, no sister to sleep by my side." 

Her sickness was one of extreme suffering. 
There were frequent turns of exhaustion, in 
which she lay so long, that it seemed as if the 



49 

gentle spirit could never again be recalled to 
earth. It took its departure, just as spring 
began to quicken the verdure and flowers that 
she loved. She died at the age of eleven 
years, on April 19th, 1834, a few weeks after 
her dear Margaret. 

For the last three days of her life, she lay 
speechless, but perfectly conscious. Her fare- 
well to her parents, was a smile, long, tender, 
and sweet beyond description. Its language 
was love that transcended speech, with some 
shadowing forth of heaven's happiness. 

The grave where her sister slept, was open- 
ed for her. Their coffins were laid side by 
side. And those lovely sisters, for whom had 
been one cradle, one fireside, " one Lord, one 
faith, one baptism/' entered into one tomb, 
and lay down on the same pillow of elay, to 
wait for the resurrection. 

The parents, bearing a loss which earth can 
never repair, find comfort in the tokens they 
4 



50 

have left behind, in the memory of their 
words, their virtues, their prayers, their love 
of the Bible, their trust in a Redeemer, the 
willing and joyful hope with which they went 
home to God. May they also be cheered 
by the testimony, that good has been done to 
other children by this transcript of the piety 
of their own ; and may the voice of their ex- 
ample, by which, " being dead, they speak," 
be cherished, and followed, by many lambs of 
their Saviour's fold. 

We close this account of the sisters, with 
the following extract from a sermon of their 
respected pastor, the Rev. Dr. Wheaton, ad- 
dressed to the Sunday school, of which they 
were members, from the appropriate text, 

" Is it well with the child ? And she an- 
swered, It is ivell" 

" Margaret and Henrietta Flower, were 
lovely in their lives, and in death they were 



51 

scarcely divided. They sleep in one grave. 
No sooner had they stepped on the threshold 
of this busy scene, and were permitted to 
look abroad for a moment as it were into the 
world, than by a mysterious Providence they 
were suddenly withdrawn from it to another 
state of being. 

u The eldest had been a sufferer for almost 
half a year ; and through all that period, as 
well as for some time previous, was evidently 
ripening for the kingdom of God. To the 
inquiry of the clergyman who visited her 
early in her illness, whether she had rather 
die then, and go to the arms of her Saviour, 
or recover, and grow up a thoughtless young 
lady; she replied without hesitation, ' Let me 
die now.? Her mind seemed entirely ab- 
stracted from the world she was so soon to 
leave. The glorious sun, shining into her 
sick chamber, on a clear morning, reminded 
her of the rising of the ' Sun of Righteousness, 



52 

with healing in his wings ; ? and when gay 
parties were passing and repassing under her 
window, on the new fallen snow, she exclaim- 
ed, in the words of that beautiful hymn, 

' Let worldly minds the world pursue, 

It hath no charms for me : — 
Once I admired its trifles too, 
But grace hath set me free/ 

" To hear the Bible read, and especially the 
Psalms, was her favorite occupation ; and the 
forty-second Psalm, in which David in afflic- 
tion mourns that he was not permitted to ap- 
pear on the holy hill of Zion, was the one to 
which she listened with the deepest interest. 

" Often while in health had she been sur- 
prised in her chamber on her knees, directing 
her secret prayers to the God who seeth in 
secret ; and often did she express her wish to 
receive the rite of confirmation should her life 
be spared till spring. 



53 

" I saw her for the first time but a few days 
before her death. Her mental faculties were 
entire, her strong memory remained with her ; 
but her voice had failed ; her days were num- 
bered and almost finished. She spoke of 
death with the calmness of an ordinary event ; 
and trusted that God had forgiven her un- 
righteousness, and accepted her in the beloved. 
With a life so blameless as hers had been, and 
with a faith in Christ so calm and holy, was 
there any presumption in her exclaiming, that 
c God had made her happy — that he had given 
her the peace which passeth all understand- 
ing?' Was there any affectation in her re- 
marking as she did, to a relative, 4 The worm 
is my sister ? ? 

" Thus lived and died one, whose cheerful 
countenance you have often seen, and whose 
voice, raised in the devout response and the 
holy song, you have often heard within these 



54 

walls : and I now ask you, my young hearers. 
Is it not well with her ? 

" But the commandment had gone forth, 
and her sister must follow to the grave, to 
the judgment, to the recompense of reward. 
The first sacrifice was not consummated be- 
fore the second was called for; — why, we can- 
not tell. The words of our Saviour, i What 
I do, thou knowest not now ; but thou shalt 
know hereafter,' apply with peculiar perti- 
nence to his early removal of these two fair 
blossoms of promise. In one of my visits to 
the survivor during her agonizing illness, and 
when hope was departing, I inquired if she 
was willing to follow her sister, should the 
will of God be so ? Her reply was, that ' she 
was ready.' 'But what reason have you to 
believe that God will grant you forgiveness, 
and take you to himself? 5 'Because Christ 
said,, Suffer little children to come unto me, 
and forbid them not ; for of such is the king- 



55 

dom of heaven. 5 'But what have you done 
to merit heaven?' 'Nothing; — Christ has 
shed his blood to wash away my sins ; and I 
put my trust in him.' 

" Again I say, my young friends, is it not 
well with her ? 

" Now if you are anxious to know by what 
means it was, that these children were thus 
early prepared to meet their God, and how 
they were reconciled to the idea of giving up 
all that they loved and hoped for on earth, just 
when they began to feel that it was glorious 
to live and move and have their being : — 
could their spirits hear you and respond to 
your inquiries, they would say, that it was in 
the house of God, and in the Sunday school, 
that they learned those holy truths which 
taught them how to die. If you desire that 
it may be well with you, here and forever, use 
all the means in your power to become recon- 
ciled to God. Learn all you can of divine 



56 

truth ; study it with earnest prayer for the 
Spirit's guidance and instruction ; and medi- 
tate deeply on what Christ has done for your 
soul. Remember that you too may be re- 
moved by an early death, and as you value 
your well-being through a long eternity, it is 
necessary that you be always ready to give up 
your account to God. ' A soul prepared, needs 
no delay.' Come when he will, the messenger 
will find you watching ; and in place of the 
terrors and alarms which the wicked experi- 
ence at the thoughts of death, you will feel 
that although it may be desirable to live, it is 
gain to die" 



57 



LINES 

On the death of Miss Margaret and Henrietta Flower. 



They're here, in this turf-bed, those tender forms, 
So kindly cherish' d, and so fondly lov'd, — 
They 're here. 

Sweet sisters, pleasant in their lives, 
And not in death divided. Sure 'tis meet 
That blooming groups should gather here, and learn 
How quick the transit to the silent tomb. 

I do remember them, their pleasant brows 
So mark'd with pure affections, and the glance 
Of their mild eyes, when in the house of God 
They gather'd up the manna, that did fall, 
Like dew around. 

The eldest parted first, 
And it was touching even to tears, to see 
The perfect meekness of that childlike soul, 



58 



Turning 'mid sorrow's chastening to its God, 
And loosening every link of earthly hope, 
To put an angel's glorious vestments on. 

The younger linger'd for a little while 
Drooping and beautiful. Strongly the nerve 
Of that lone spirit, clasp'd its parent-prop, 
Yet still in timid tenderness embraced 
The Rock of Ages, — while the Saviour's voice 
Confirm'd its trust, — " Suffer the little ones 
To come to me." 

And then her sister's couch 
Undrew its narrow covering, and those forms 
Which side by side, on the same cradle-bed 
So often shar'd the sleep of infancy, cheek to cheek, 
Were laid on that clay pillow, — 
And hand to hand, until the morning break 
That hath no night. 

And ye are left alone, 
Who nurtur'd those fair buds, and often said 
Unto each other in the hour of care, 
These same shall comfort us, for all our toil ; — 
Yes, ye are left alone. It is not ours 
To heal such wound. Man hath too weak a hand. — 
All he can give is tears. 

But He who took 



59 



Your treasures to his keeping, He hath power 
To uphold your footsteps, till they reach that clime 
Where none are written childless, and the hearts 
Parted a few brief moments here, unite 
In an unchang'd eternity of bliss. 



60 



LETTER TO THE BEREAVED PARENTS. 



It hath pleased God, my dear friends, that 
your names should be written childless. An 
affliction of no common nature has fallen upon 
you. Repeatedly, and with so brief an in- 
terval, to lay your treasures in the tomb, and 
find that habitation desolate, which used to 
resound with the tones of innocent mirth, 
and the voice of young affections, is a sorrow 
which few hearts can realize. We feel that 
our sympathies, however sincere, fall short of 
the occasion. — We would not dare to ask you 
not to mourn. Nature, under such a pressure, 
must relieve herself by tears. "Jesus wept" 
is a sufficient sanction for the mourner's tear. 



61 

We would bow down with you, while you 
take the cup of wo, and pray that its bitter- 
ness may be made salutary. The Being who 
in wisdom afflicts us, never intended that we 
should be insensible to his discipline, or that 
we should gird ourselves with pride to meet 
it, or that we should seal up the fountain of 
tears, when he maketh the heart soft. He 
will not regard as sinful, the deep sighing of a 
broken spirit, that amid its mourning inquires, 
" Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" 

Your beloved, and lamented ones, were most 
amiable and interesting. They were lovely in 
the eyes of others, as well as precious to your 
own. Were they less precious in the sight 
of Him, who created and watched over them, 
from the beginning, with a love far more un- 
tiring and perfect, than that of any earthly 
guide ? Did not the goodness and piety which 
endeared them here, make them fitter com- 
panions for those pure spirits, with whom, we 



62 

trust, they are mingling, around his throne ? 
Their virtues, and their loveliness, seem to 
have rendered your loss greater. But would 
you have had them less virtuous, less lovely ? 
You do not grudge that the gift should have 
possessed some fitness for Him who reclaimed 
it. — Oh no. You will give thanks that the 
fair promise of their excellence was unclouded 
when they went down into the dust. Espe- 
cially, you will rejoice, that the proofs of their 
piety were so clear, that a kind and affec- 
tionate spirit was early breathed into their 
hearts, and that they were, through faith in a 
Redeemer, made ready for a higher habitation, 
and willing to ascend there. How often will 
the echo of their sweet accents revisit your 
memory, repeating as they were w r ont, " Suf- 
fer little children to come unto me, and 
forbid them not ; for of such is the kingdom 
of heaven. " 

Often, also, will it dwell on your thankful 



63 

recollection, that they can feel sorrow no 
more. This to the heart of a parent, is an 
assurance of unspeakable value. You will no 
more see them racked with pain, or pale with 
weakness, or emaciated with lingering disease. 
You are no longer to watch their sleepless 
couch, or hear their dovelike moaning, and 
shudder with untold agony, that you have no 
power to arrest the pang, or to stay the foot- 
step of the destroyer. Henceforth, by them, 
sickness and death are felt and feared no 
more. 

From the many hazards of this evil life, 
from those temptations which sometimes foil 
the strongest, and the sins which mav over- 
shadow those whose opening course was most 
fair, they have escaped. To be forever sin- 
less, and at rest, is a glorious heritage. We, 
who bear the burdens of a weary pilgrimage, 
cherish as our strongest consolation, the hope 



64 

of at length reaching what they have already 
attained. 

Their interval of separation was short. 
Scarcely had the parting-tear dried on the 
turf-covering of one, ere the other was sum- 
moned to the same pillow, " ashes to ashes, 
and dust to dust." The drooping survivor, 
was but a little while compelled to mourn, 
like a smitten and lovely blossom. You re- 
member how they loved each other's society. 
If they had been separated longer than usual, 
how they would fly to each other's arms. If 
one had been absent from home, with what 
rapture her return was anticipated. But can 
you portray, or even imagine, their meeting in 
heaven? Here they met, but to part again. 
There, they are to be forever with the Lord. 
They have joined an " innumerable company 
of angels, and God, the judge of all, and the 
spirits of the just made perfect." 

The felicity of glorified saints we may not 



65 

comprehend. " Eye hath not seen, nor ear 
heard, nor the heart of man conceived' 5 it. 
But we may prepare ourselves for it. We 
may daily cultivate those graces which will 
fit us to reciprocate the welcome of angels, 
when it shall please God to say to us, "Come 
up hither." 

Afflictions have eminently the power of 
advancing spiritual welfare. Yours have been 
heavy and peculiar. May their heavenly fruits 
be equally visible and prominent. May time 
bring you that entire resignation and peace, so 
beautifully described by a poet. — 

" When the wounds of wo are healing, 
When the heart is all resign'd, 
'Tis the solemn feast of feeling, 
'Tis the Sabbath of the mind." 

In seeking comfort under this dispensation, 
reflect that your children are not only together, 
but they are at home. When they have at any 
5 



66 

time left you, to go among strangers, how 
many anxieties have possessed your bosom. 
You have feared that they might be sick, ere 
you could be informed, — that they might seek 
comfort and not find it, or be in error and 
heaviness, and need that advice and sympathy 
which none but a parent can bestow. Now, 
they are where nothing dangerous or unfriendly 
can intrude. They feel no longer the helpless- 
ness and timidity of strangers. They are at 
home, in the house of their Father. Your 
family is commenced in heaven. There is 
a gathering together of your dearest ones, 
around the altar of immortality. 

The time is short, ere you hope to enfold 
them in an eternal embrace. You will not 
yield to despondence, though loneliness marks 
your dwelling, when you realize that its be- 
loved inmates are only gone a little in ad- 
vance, to that mansion which the Saviour 
hath prepared for all who love him. There- 



67 

fore, my dear mourning friends, comfort each 
other by the way. Fellow-Christians, and 
heirs of the same inheritance, vou can remind 
each other of " exceeding great and precious 
promises ;" and while you bless God for the 
tender sympathies with which you regard each 
other, will find that sorrow thus divided, loses 
much of its anguish. You will also bless him 
for the happiness of your children. While 
they were here below, to see them happy 
w 7 as your chief joy. But you were not sure 
of the continuance of that happiness for a 
single hour. Now you can give thanks for 
the fullness of their felicity, and for its fear- 
less continuance. Their abode is where no 
rust corrupteth, where no robber may break 
through and steal. 

Speaking after the manner of men, we are 
constrained to acknowledge that earth has no 
substitute for your loss. But you do not ask 
it of earth, you look to heaven. Still, in the 



68 

meek bearing of a Father's will, and in the 
efforts of benevolence, there is a balm for the 
bereaved spirit. 

Remember that you have given a gift to 
God. Though it was with tears, he will 
accept it. If you can do it without repining, 
you prove your love to him. To reveal its 
complacence by gifts, seems to be one of 
the native dialects of love. The little child 
presents its favorite teacher, with a fresh 
flower : — It hastens to its mother with the 
first, best rose in its little garden. In the 
kiss to its father, with which it resigns itself 
to sleep, it gives away its whole heart. Nor 
does love falter, though its gifts involve sacri- 
fices. The wife willingly trusts to her chosen 
protector, her " all of earth, perhaps, her all 
of heaven" The mother grudges not the 
pang, the faded bloom, and the many night- 
watchings, with which she rears up her infant. 
Why should parents yield with such bitter 



69 

reluctance their children to that all-wise and 
beneficent Being, whom " not having seen, 
they love." 

Love rejoices to see its object in the most 
eligible situations. We are delighted when 
our children are in the successful pursuit of 
knowledge, in the bright path of virtue, in 
possession of the esteem of the w T ise and 
good. In sending them from home, we seek 
to secure for them the advantages of refined 
society, the superintendence of affectionate 
and pious friends. Were a man, illustrious in 
power and excellence, to take a parent's in- 
terest in their concerns, or were they admitted 
to the mansion of princes, should we not be 
sensible of the honor ? Why then, with an 
unreconciled spirit, do we see them go to be 
angels among angels, and to dwell gloriously 
in the presence of the " high and Holy One, 
who inhabiteth eternity?" 

You have added to the number of those 



70 

who serve God without sin. You may not 
now see the dazzling of their celestial wings, 
as they unfold them, without weariness, to 
do His will. You may not now, listen to the 
melody of their harps, attuned to unending 
praise. But perhaps, from their heavenly 
abode, they watch over you. Perhaps, with 
a seraph smile, they still hover around you. 
They will rejoice to see you walking with 
a placid brow, and resigned spirit, to meet 
them, doing good, according to your power, to 
all around ; and ever solacing yourselves with 
the thought, that your loss is their eternal 
gain. And now that the God of all consola- 
tion, without whose aid all our best endeavors 
are nothing worth, may sustain and bless you, 
is the prayer of 

Yours with friendship and sympathy, 

L. H. S. 



71 



LINES 

Addressed to the Parents of Margaret and Henrietta Flower. 



Tender guides, in sorrow weeping, 
O'er your children's buried bloom, 

Or fond memory's vigil keeping, 

Where the fresh turf marks their tomb,- 

Ye no more shall see them bearing 
Pangs that woke the dove-like moan, 

Still for your affliction caring, 
Though forgetful of their own, — 

Ere the bitter cup they tasted 

Which the hand of care doth bring, 

Ere the glittering pearls were wasted 
From glad childhood's fairy string, 



72 

Ere one chain of hope had rusted, 
Ere one wreath of joy was dead, 

To the Saviour, whom they trusted, 
Full of love, their spirits fled. — 

Gone, where no dark sin is cherish'd, 
Where no woes, nor fears invade, — 

Gone, ere youth's first bud had perish'd, 
To a youth that ne'er can fade. 



